


The Other Harveys

by ludivine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Advice, Coming of Age, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Sad, Time Travel, True Love, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludivine/pseuds/ludivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey lives in an interesting predicament. His other selves from the past and future randomly appear at the most inconvenient times. He would be worried about what his lover thinks but it's okay because Avery is along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Harveys

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...this was so inspired by the Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger which I read about 3 years ago and absolutely loved. However, I tweaked the universe to fit my needs. And none of the characters in her book are around here.
> 
> My Harvey is somewhat based on Harvey Spector from Suits but only physically and by name, not as a character. Which is why I didn't tag this fic as such.
> 
> Also, fair warning, this isn't finished.

The Other Harvey

“Harvey?” I gasp.

He’s standing by the door of the grocery store I’m exiting, well within the shadows of the nighttime streetlights and looking everything like a mugger. He’s rubbing his hands together, in cold or with nervousness, I don’t know, maybe both. And he has this air of desperation about him in a way that makes my gut sink and my heart beat fast.

He looks terrible. Hollow eyes with dark circles, pale and grey in the moonlight, his mouth is set and he’s the skinniest I’ve ever seen him.

I immediately go to him, I can’t not anymore. My Harvey, the real one that actually exists in this timeline, is away on a job in France. Although we both kind of hated it, we agreed it’d be best for me to stay at home. I had just gone a little grocery shopping, my hands full of cheap microwave dinners and junk food. I’ll admit, I’m like a child without Harvey. I had forgotten to go shopping all week. Out of desperation and absolute need, I’m going now.

Only, of course I see what looks like 22-year-old Harvey, gaunt and miserable, waiting for me.

“Oh, baby,” I sigh, dropping my stuff to pull him in. He immediately crushes me against his chest, face in my hair. I can hear a quiet sob as he clutches me. He’s rail thin through his dirty sweater, and shivering in the winter cold.

“Avery,” he sighs like a prayer. His hands are vices on my arms. I pull away just enough to give him a good look.

I’m not surprised when a young Dom approaches us, “He isn’t bothering you is he?” The Dom practically growls at Harvey.

Harvey’s return glare is cold enough to make the Dom stiffen. His green eyes are dark black today in the dim light.

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I know him.”

The Dom nods reluctantly and walks off.

“Come on,” I tell him.

In the car, younger Harvey is quiet. It’s such a stark difference from when I last saw him: 25-year-old Harvey. Appeared a month ago as Harvey and I were pouring over documents from the station. He was loud and sweet and perfectly young in board shorts and a tank if you could believe it. Immediately after seeing him, I flashed back to ’98 on the private beach in Cancun, making love all night under fairy lights and palm trees. It made me tingle with happiness and my Harvey and I shared a private smile. 25-year-old Harvey was not angry at the interruption, interested in what we were doing in the future and busy looking between us to see if much had changed, and grinning when he saw it hadn’t.

As I looked at 22-year-old Harvey, sad and despondent in the passenger seat of my Jeep, I wondered if I really had that much affect on his life. After all, those two Harveys were only 3 years apart, the major difference being, I met Harvey when he was 24.

Per usual, my Harvey did not talk very much of the times before he met me in real time. I knew at some point his situation turned for the worst, but I didn’t know where, when or why. This Harvey was so very different from the Harvey’s I had met at 18, at 28, or even at 20.

I gripped the steering wheel, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

His head turned towards the window, “You don’t want to know.”

I winced. “What is it?” I asked concerned. “Is it depression? Drugs? Did you kill someone?”

“Jesus, Avery,” he sighed, thumping his head against the window.

“I don’t know,” I sigh, “You never tell me that stuff. Before you, you know,” I made a vague hand jester that I immediately regretted after catching his expression.

“Before meeting you?” he snorts, bitter. His mouth twists in a grimace, “Of course not. Why would I talk about this shit?”

He’s still eerily handsome despite the drug addict-y look he’s going for. His jaw is still strong under his three-day-old beard and his nose is a little crooked from when he broke it in a fight when he was 17.  I spot a scar on his hand from when he had a motorcycle accident when he was 19 and I smile softly, remembering two days ago when I kissed it lovingly before he left for his flight. I know all this because he’s still Harvey, my Harvey.

“Look,” I tell him softly. The roads are dark but clear of traffic, it’s the sort of peace night brings and I can smell the air from our rolled down windows. I’m in no hurry to get home so I take my time. “I don’t know what to tell you to make things okay. I know…” I sigh, “I know for a long time you thought I was some… savior or something. But I’m not. I don’t save you Harvey, and you don’t save me. That’s not how it works.”

He purses his lips, looking outside at the dark buildings that pass. His eyes are dark, “You’re all I have.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he growls. I grip the steeling wheel and frown. His face is turned away from me and it bothers me. “I don’t have anyone else to go to.”

“What do you want me to give you, Harvey?”

“I don’t know!” he hisses. “Okay? I don’t fucking know!” He rubs his eyes with his fingers, “Fuck!”

I pull over into a park parking lot and turn off the car. I can hear insects chirping loudly from the tree we are parked under. Our house is just a few blocks away.

I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. My hair shifts over my shoulders. It’s down, which is unusual for me. Harvey is quiet. But when I open my eyes, slowly, I see him staring at me, green eyes dull but soft.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs. But he says it irritably and without happiness, like it angers him. I’ve never heard him say it like that before. His fingers graze my eye socket and cheek. I’m very still but not tense, just watching. “Why can’t I have you?” His fist clenches at his sides.

“You will,” I whisper, holding his fingers between my own. They are large, even in his youth. “I promise, you’ll have me completely.”

“I want you now,” it should sound petulant, but it only sounds sad. His face is hard, if he were the Harvey from my timeline, I would smooth it with a kiss and a smile, but this Harvey is not mine yet.

I smile faintly, pulling my legs up in the seat, it’s cramped but making myself smaller always makes me feel better. Harvey’s eyes follow the movement of my legs like he’s trying to memorize it.

“To receive love, you have to open yourself up to it.”

“What does that mean?” he snorts. “Don’t tell me you believe in sentimental bullshit.”

I cock my head to the side and really look at him. He seems to squirm under the gaze, but it’s hardly noticeable. I only notice because I know him. “Why do you want me so badly, Harvey? It can’t be just because of my looks,” I tease.

He purses his lips, tensing up around his shoulders. It’s a hard topic for him. I wonder with an ache in my chest how much he thinks about it. “I want what you give me,” he replies. “I always look so happy with you, like nothing else matters. I want the confidence you give me, the happiness, the love, the power.”

“You think I give you power?” I laugh. “Confidence?” I shake my head at him, “Love, you give yourself that. I don’t change you Harvey. I bring your true self out. I compliment you, yes, but I don’t make you. When I meet you, you already have those things in copious amounts already.”

He stares at me, eyes wide. I grin back, “I was serious,” I say soberly, “When I told you that I wasn’t your savior. I was also serious when I said I didn’t know what you wanted from me. You have to find that out yourself, I think.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I purr. I can’t help it, he is my mate after all. Affection comes so easily. “But you will. You just have to find the something in yourself that gives you strength.” I touch his cheek, rough with the hairs of his beard which I’ve only ever seen a handful of times. It makes him look rugged, I wonder if he could pull off the look now. “You’ve got to love yourself before you can ever love me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely want to add more to this because I love the idea of something like this happening and the drama that goes with it. But an addition probably won't happen anytime soon. However, I like the concept and what I've started. I hope you enjoyed too. 
> 
> tl;dr If it sticks in my brain long enough there will be another "chapter".
> 
> Funny: So I realized after the fact that this could be read as if Avery is a man or a woman...hmmm


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